


Whispers of the Red-Eyed Man

by Kefalion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Demon Deals, M/M, No Hogwarts, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Soul Bond, Soul Selling, Student of Law!Harry Potter, Tomarry Reverse Big Bang 2020, demon!voldemort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:53:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26321455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kefalion/pseuds/Kefalion
Summary: Harry has moved to London, paying for a room at the flat of Fenrir Greyback. One night he overhears a conversation he has no business listening into. It mentions deals (selling your soul - what?), a man with red eyes who will grant you anything for the right price, and Harry can't let that go though he tries. It doesn't matter that he never seeks out this deal maker, he will find Harry.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 5
Kudos: 45
Collections: Tomarry Reverse Big Bang 2020





	Whispers of the Red-Eyed Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TreeDaddyD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TreeDaddyD/gifts).



> This story was written for the reverse Tomarry Bigbang 2020 and is inspired by the art of TreeDaddyD. [Page here on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TreeDaddyD/pseuds/TreeDaddyD) and  
> [Tumblr page](https://treedaddyd.tumblr.com/)

With the key raised to the heavy wooden door, Harry paused, taking in the raised voices on the other side. It was Greyback, alright, and…

He probably shouldn't eavesdrop.

He did have a right to be there though, to walk in that door. The nine hundred pounds he paid Greyback at the end of the month for a room in the flat said so. If he happened to overhear, it wasn't his fault.

Resolutely he pushed in the key, turned it, and found that the door hadn't been locked in the first place. He sighed and turned his eyes skyward. So much for Greyback being on his case about security after that one time he'd forgotten to lock.

Leaving the door unlocked to make a point, Harry toed off his drenched sneakers and left them by the door before he walked softly forward, lingering in the corridor outside his room to listen. Not that he'd need to linger to follow the argument. He could probably head inside, close his door, lie on his bed with his pillow over his head and still hear.

"No! There's nothing you can say to convince me. I'm not going to sell my soul to the devil."

"Don't be ridiculous, boy. He ain't the devil, and he could be persuaded to take something smaller as payment."

"And exactly what would be considered something smaller? Something like your second contract perhaps? So tell me, how many of the years I'd be buying would I have to give up to slavery and how many of my morals would I have to forsake in his service?"

"Bah. That's if he'd even want you to work for him, which isn't likely. He'd see that you're not of the right calibre, soft-hearted whelp that you are."

"Well if you're someone of the right calibre, I'm happy not to be."

A loud bang and crash had Harry flinching. At a guess, Greyback had slammed his hands into the dining table with his not inconsiderable strength, and some glasses and dirty dishes that had accumulated there must have toppled over and fallen to the floor.

"Damn your morals. Damn your hatred of me and my choices. Damn your fucking stubbornness. You'll be alive. As long as you're alive, you can do things, do better, do more. Being dead helps nothing."

"Some things are worth dying for. My father knew that."

"I'm your father!"

"No, you're not! You gave up any claim you might have had to that title the moment you shook hands with that demon. I'm referring to my real father. My biological father."

"Why did you come here then, huh? If you're no son of mine, what right do you have to seek shelter under my roof."

A chair scraped against the floor, toppling over with another crash. "You're absolutely right. I've no right to be here. Nor do I have any desire to stay."

Harry scrambled to get properly into his room, closing his door quietly but leaving a slight gap to peer through.

On the other side of it, someone walked with long, heavy steps. He was out the door before Harry could get a good look, only seeing the back of him: a tall, thin man with greying hair. He made to slam the door behind him, but Greyback was at his heels and caught it.

"If you leave now, you're never coming back!"

"Fine by me!" the man's voice echoed up from the stairwell.

"Remus!"

"Run back to your boss. Enjoy your empty half-life. I'll enjoy mine while I still can."

The door down to the street opened and closed, the glass set in it rattling.

Another set of footsteps came down the hallway, timid, slow, nothing like the steps of either of the previous people who'd walked past.

Greyback noticed the third person too. There was a growl in his voice as he spoke. "You're still here, you little rat?"

"I… Yes." The voice was as timid as the steps had been, squeaky and tremulous.

"Get out."

"But I—"

"Get. Out."

"No." Harry held still, not wanting to miss anything at this turn of events, the voice had gained a note of steel. "I want to know more about…. these deals."

"You're the most spineless runt I ever saw. You won't have anything worth barging with, and even magic can't make you into a braver, stronger man. Money won't help with that either. So if that's what you're after, you're better off saving your breath."

"I'm not asking for myself. Can you make a deal for someone else?"

Greyback chuckled nastily. "If it's about some woman-"

"It's about Remus."

Silence settled between the two men as the stranger interrupted Greyback. It hung awkward and heavy. Harry shuffled his feet, unable to stand still, the tension in the hallway getting to him.

"Why'd you bargain for him?" Greyback asked belatedly.

"He's my best friend," the man said. "The only friend I have left. I don't want him to die too. Not when I can do something about it."

"And what would you give to keep him with us?"

"I—"

"There'll be no room for hesitation in this."

The man let out an audible gulp. "I'll give everything."

"Maybe you're alright after all, Pettigrew. I guess I'll give you your chance to prove yourself. Come on. Let's see if there are any whole glasses left on the table. You'll want a drink in you if we're going to see Lord Voldemort." He paused. "And some nicer clothes."

They retreated back into the dining room, the sound of their voices growing lower. Harry knew that he should let it be. He could no longer claim that he'd simply overheard by chance if he pursued this. He wanted to though. Badly. Curiosity gnawed at him.

Kicking himself mentally for being stupid and weak and unable to resist temptation, he sneaked out into the hallway and got himself into place by the entrance to the dining room.

He didn't know much about Greyback's vocation and this was a golden opportunity to find out more. It sounded beyond interesting. What he'd previously learned had only been enough to confirm that he, an eighteen-year-old away on his own for the first time shouldn't be staying with him.

"Drink."

Harry peaked around the corner, watching the back of a short man with rounded shoulders and thinning hair accept a tumbler of some amber liquid.

"I'm not sure—"

"Get sure. Drink."

The man, Pettigrew, swallowed it down, panting at the burn. He turned so that Harry could see his face. He had small, pale eyes, a sharp nose, and it was obvious why Greyback called him a _rat._

Greyback patted Pettigrew on the back, making him stumble. "Have you heard of Lord Voldemort before?"

Pettigrew shook his head. "I don't think so. But I have heard of a man with red eyes who... Some people have said that…. that for the right price... if you ask him, you can get anything you want."

"These people are right. More or less. It's very much about being able to pay the right price. Not everyone has something he'll accept."

"So I might not be able to help Remus?"

Greyback tilted his head, peering at Pettigrew with yellowing eyes that seemed to take on a glow as his stare intensified. He bared his teeth in a wolfish smile. "We might be able to come up with something. At a closer look, you don't seem as hopeless as I first assumed. Yeah, you'll probably do." Greyback took a drink too, then stepped close to Pettigrew, crowding him against the buffet, staring him down. "But if you're going to back out, you do so now. If you make a fool of me, I'll make you regret it."

"I'm not backing out."

"Well then." Greyback poured another two fingers of brandy into each of their glasses. "Drink that up and we'll get going. Do you have anything more suitable to wear or shall we have to suffer through the embarrassment?"

"I—I've a suit at home."

"Go get dressed and meet me outside the Death Eater. It's a club on Harrington Road. Just a couple of streets west of South Kensington Station. Think you can manage that?"

"Yes—"

"Then hurry up."

Greyback ushered out Pettigrew and Harry scrambled to move out of the way and hide. His bedroom was too far away. He rounded the doorframe into the kitchen, heading to the sink and getting a drink of water, giving himself an alibi for being there. Heart pounding in his chest, he sipped the water, spilling some down his front.

Not long after, Greyback entered the kitchen, a scowl firmly in place. "Don't pretend that you didn't listen, boy. I've smelled you since the moment you came in."

"I'm sorry." Harry tried for a smile. He was fairly certain it was wan and wouldn't fool anyone with half a brain, let alone Greyback who didn't trust easily.

"If you do anything about what you heard, you will be. And what have I told you about leaving the front door unlocked?"

"Not to do it."

"Then why the fuck did you?"

"I'm sorry," Harry said again.

"I'll put you back out on the street where I found you." For each word, Greyback's voice grew deeper, closer to a snarl.

Harry wouldn't let himself be intimidated. At least, he wouldn't let his fear show. "You can't. We've a contract."

"A contract that won't be renewed if you keep poking your nose into things that don't concern you. I'm going out."

"Sure." Harry nodded vigorously. "Should I clean up in the dining room?" He offered it as a peace offering but didn't expect a yes. Nor did he get one.

"Fuck you will. I'll know if you've poked around. Your room. The kitchen. The bathroom. The living room. That's where you're allowed. You know it. Act like it."

Greyback swirled around, prowled away, and a moment later, the front door was locked with a pointed turn of a key.

Harry slumped against the kitchen counter. He should find another place to stay before Greyback actually found a reason to kick him out. In an emergency, Ron or Hermione would take him in. That was a comfort to know. That didn't mean he wanted to intrude upon them though. He could be self-sufficient. He would be. He would never let anyone call him a freeloader again, a burden, a blessing to get rid off. He'd never allow himself to live like with the Dursleys again.

The Dursleys was the reason that he'd found this place with Greyback in the first place. He'd wanted to prove that he could go places, to have his address be a prestigious one in London, one a young adult without family connections wasn't supposed to have. It had been a silly reason. He'd be better off somewhere in the suburbs, like Bexley or Sutton. That'd really show the Dursleys, show that he didn't even care what they thought of him, that they were gone from his life. Heaven knew that they wouldn't have spared him a thought since he'd left. He should return the favour.

—Whispers of the Red-Eyed Man—

It took several months to arrange, but eventually Harry moved out. He started attending university to study law, got a spot in a student dorm, and was resolute to think as little of Greyback as he did the Dursleys. Which was saying that he thought way too much about him and whatever deals he'd made and the one he'd made them with. Studying law and finding out more about deals and contracts and the underworld certainly hadn't helped him forget about this Lord Voldemort. However, he did berate himself every time he thought about it, knowing that it was developing into a bad habit that could turn into an obsession if he weren't careful.

Students as a group were not the most upstanding part of the population. It happened that Harry heard whispers of the same red-eyed man, this Lord Voldemort. There were plenty of rumors of how people had made deals for their grades, how faculty had risen in position with outside help, and in the circles of the affluent it was the most common. At least that's what Harry had heard. No one had spoken directly to him about it, and so far he'd not sought out the people who were part of the rumors, having at least that much control over himself.

So when he caught sight of Greyback in the company of Pettigrew one evening, he should have crossed the street and stayed clear of them. That's what he should have done, but before he could find a zebra crossing or spot an opportunity to jaywalk without being run over, he heard them say one thing: Lord Voldemort.

Curiosity pricked at him as insistently as the previous time. They were near Harrington Road. He remembered it being mentioned that night when he'd decided he needed to leave. Just following them for a little bit to check out if they were headed to that club couldn't do any harm. It's not as if he were planning on going inside.

It was too good an opportunity to pass up on. He might never get another one.

They arrived at the place, a large neon sign hanging above the entrance, looking more than a little out of place, yet so loud and bright and intricate that no one who'd had their sensibilities hurt would dare protest.

Greyback and Pettigrew disappeared inside, and Harry watched them go, stopping his approach. For a while he stood observing what types of people moved through. Rich and or shady seemed to be the common denominator. Harry was neither and wouldn't fit in. There wasn't a chance in hell that the bouncer would let him in. And he shouldn't try. He had a test in the morning. And he needed to do some last-minute studying to prepare.

He could come back. Take Ron and Hermione with him. They could all have a good time together at the club.

Ugh. Who was he trying to kid? This place was hardly indicative of a fun night. Rather the opposite. Or perhaps an interesting night if you were to put it in as positive words as possible while remaining truthful. It was interesting as in dangerous. He'd gotten away from Greyback for a reason. This shady stuff was the reason. It wasn't safe. If he got involved with anything like this, he was kissing his career goodbye before it'd ever started. He should move his feet. Walk away. Forget about noticing that this place existed. He shouldn't be memorising the location so that he'd be able to return. Just looking at these people, mixing with them was asking for trouble. Fur coats. High heels. Designer bags. Cashmere overcoats. Rolex watches of the genuine kind. Everything in dark colours as if to blend in with the night.

So why did his feet seem to be stuck to the pavement?

"You seem to have a lot on your mind."

Harry jumped at the voice, his feet unsticking. "Woah, mate. Don't sneak up on a guy like that."

Harry clutched as his chest, feeling as much of a parody as he looked, trying to keep his heart from jumping out of it. He'd indeed been deep in thought, enough so that he'd lost some of his awareness of his surroundings and he'd have no idea this man was approaching.

He looked like he'd fit right in at the Death Eater club, handsomely dressed—handsome in other respects too, but Harry was _so_ not paying any attention to that, no siree—and there was something shady about him that Harry couldn't put his finger on, just say that he shared it with a lot of the patrons he'd seen come and go from the club.

A smirk was firmly in place on his lips, the red light of the neon sign reflecting off his eyes. "Sorry," he said with zero sincerity.

"So, what can I help you with?"

"I don't know. I rather think it is I who can help you with something. Do your interests lie merely in observing or are you hoping to partake?"

Harry's heard the words. He was sure he had. They were in English too. Just as with some of the law texts though, the meaning escaped him. "Excuse me?"

The man's smirk took on a mocking edge. "Are you just watching or do you want to go inside?" He spoke slowly, enunciating the simpler words exaggeratedly as if to make up for Harry being a dimwitted buffoon.

"I'm fine out here, thanks."

The smirk slid off the man's face and turned into a thoughtful moue. "You're quite right. I don't believe I fancy going there myself this evening. There's only so much time a man can spend in the company of the parvenue."

Harry found his mouth hanging open but held back from saying another _what_. Instead he thought. He knew the word. He'd had to look it up the other day when he came across it in one of his course texts. "You don't enjoy hanging out with—" He hesitated, unsure if he wanted to go there. This man screamed money the same way Ron screamed poor despite his best efforts not to.

The choice was taken from him, as the man smirked anew. "With chavs?"

Harry deflated. Okay then. Such talk was apparently acceptable. But there could be a double standard. They might be allowed to use such words, while he, an outsider, was not. "With other fancy people, yeah," he settled on.

"Don't misunderstand me, they have their uses and are preferable in company to most common rabble. However, every so often, one cannot help but to desire a break. Especially not when someone like yourself comes along."

Okay, so now Harry was sure the man was having him on. "I'm sorry, I have to go." This man had succeeded in what Harry himself could not, in giving him a reason to leave post-haste.

The man wouldn't have it though. He reached out, grasping at Harry's arm. When they touched, a jolt went through Harry. Like electricity. Not of the static-normal-during-wintertime kind. This was far more enjoyable. It was far, well more too. Not just electricity. That was just the first layer of the sensation. It was the bubbles in champagne, the beat of a good song, the warmth of a hot bath, the kiss of a lover.

Harry's feet were once more glued to the ground. He couldn't move, overwhelmed by the sensations that tingled through his body, centred in his arm which did not have the necessary nerves to sustain such a feeling, yet did.

"I knew it," the man whispered. Something approaching ecstasy twisted his face, and it made him far less handsome than the wry smirks had, as if the aristocratic, model-good looks had been a mask hiding a different sort of creature underneath. His fingers massaged Harry's arm through the thick layer of his coat. Oh, to know what this would feel like without any barrier.

The man loosened his grip and the haze of the sensation left Harry free to be filled with outrage.

"Knew what?" Harry half-shouted and stumbled back a couple of steps. "What the hell was that?"

"We should discuss it somewhere more private."

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

"So you'd like to discuss the murder of your parents out in the street."

"What the hell are you on about? What are you claiming to know about my parents?"

"I know a lot about you, Harry Potter." A chill appeared in Harry's chest, filling the whole of him at once. "I know your story and your future. I know that they were killed when you were only a baby. I know the house you lived in was ruined in the fight. I know your godfather was framed for their murder and that you were sent to live with relatives. I know you stayed with Fenrir Greyback for a time and that you're now studying to become a lawyer, and I know that you soon will agree to make a deal with Lord Voldemort."

"You're insane. This is insane."

"Insane or not. It's the truth."

"Are you some kind of stalker?"

The man let out a short bark of cold, high laughter. "No. I think that you'll momentarily find yourself to be the stalker." He walked past Harry, turning across the street, not paying the speeding cars any attention, simply passing between them as if they couldn't hurt him.

"Shit." Harry shouldn't follow. He shouldn't let himself be baited. He knew so much better than to follow a strange man. Getting the police involved is what a cautious person would do. Not that they'd be at liberty to do much about it.

Harry wasn't the cautious type. He was curious to a fault. And this went beyond curiosity.

He swore a full litany, shouldered his backpack more firmly, and went out into the street, half running and swerving as he crossed from one lane to the next. The honking of oncoming traffic died out and was filled in by high laughter. As annoying as it was, it made it impossible to mistake where the man was headed.

"Where are you going?"

"You'll see." He picked up his pace, sending mocking smirks over his shoulder every so often as he checked that Harry was still following.

Harry didn't catch up to him until they were at Brompton Cemetery, seeing the trees and fence some thirty minutes later. He'd grown cold and irate and he was questioning his sanity. The cemetery was not the place to be late at night. His pace faltered. He should find an underground stop and get home.

"Harry," the man said in a sing-songy voice as if he knew Harry was fed up and was thinking of leaving. "Afraid of the dead? Not brave enough to find out the truth about your family, about yourself? Afraid of ghosts perhaps? Or is it me you're afraid of? As long as you give me no reason to hurt you, I won't, but you are testing my patience."

The taunting shouldn't work. It damn well shouldn't. But he'd come this far, wasted this much time. Another hour was if he actually learned something. Which he was more likely to do here than with his nose stuck in a book. He could always wait for the retake of the exam.

He wouldn't be completely stupid though. He took up his mobile and sent off a quick message in the group chat he had with Ron and Hermione.

_I'm doing something foolish. If you don't hear from me in a couple of hours, I went to Brompton Cemetery with someone from that club Greyback mentioned._

He pocketed his mobile and grimaced at the buzzing as first an answering message came and then a call, his ring tone indecent in its cheerful guitar riff. He put it to mute and walked up to the man who held a gate into the cemetery open for him, the chain unlocked.

"Before I go any further," Harry said, "might I at least know your name."

The man tilted his head back, looking down his nose at Harry. "Have the qualifications for law dropped so low in recent years? I thought one had to have some semblance of intelligence to be admitted."

Harry glared, doing his best to put all his frustration into his eyes.

The man was less than impressed. "You should be able to put it together. You've been pursuing it for quite some time, and there have been hints." He pursed his lips as Harry remained silently glowering. "Very well then." He smirked with too much teeth, and his eyes flashed red without any lights around to cause it. The moment right before the man gave his name, Harry knew what it would be, and he agreed that he should have guessed it sooner.

"I am Lord Voldemort, and tonight, you will sell your soul to me, Harry Potter."

**Author's Note:**

>  _I’m in a Tomarry mood,_ I said. _I should join the Tomarry Big Bang,_ I said. _I should do it as both an artist and a writer,_ I said. _It will be fun,_ I said.
> 
> Then the mood ended and I’ve been avoiding this story much of the summer only writing this past week with the dead line hanging over my head. And it’s not even done! It’s only the minimum requirement. But I did it. And while it’s slightly rushed, I think there’s a good story hiding in here.
> 
> What are your thoughts on this AU? What do you imagine has happened? What is Voldemort? How does he know about Harry’s parents? What’s the deal with Greyback, Pettigrew, and Remus?
> 
> All your thoughts will feed future chapters, so **don’t be shy.**


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